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“MOMMY, PLEASE.” I FELL TO my knees and pressed my hand on the gaping wound on her neck. Blood surrounded me and when I looked down at my shirt I was soaked in red. I moved in slow motion as I trailed my finger down my shirt through the warm, sticky substance—syrup. And I had breasts. I was older. But I was supposed to be only ten years old.

I looked back at my mother and blood gushed through my fingers. Why didn’t the bleeding stop? My hands burned with my healing ability but it was all wrong. I didn’t heal her. I couldn’t because he took me away from her.

Urgency ripped through me and I panicked. I had to heal my mom. I had to heal her. Now was my chance. My body burned as if I was in a furnace. God, why was it so hot?

“Mommy, please. I can heal you. Don’t leave me.”

My mom’s neck stretched out as she inhaled a gurgled breath. Then she spoke, but it was different than before. Her voice was clear and strong and she was smiling at me.

I knew the words, every single one of them was etched in me. ”Mom, don’t talk.”

But it was as if she didn’t hear me and the broken record repeated the words I’d never forget.“It’s too late for me, baby.”

No. It wasn’t too late. This time I could heal her and then I’d heal the Talde and we’d all be okay.

The record kept going. “Drake has an Ink that must never be healed. The Goddess Azzurra killed it.” She coughed up blood and it sprayed my face over and over again. It wouldn’t stop. God, stop. Please stop.

I sobbed hysterically as I sat in a pool of her blood as she calmly spoke. “He is too powerful with his Ink. Drake doesn’t know about your other ability . . .” Her features melted together and then she burst into flames.

Oh, God, Mom. Mom. No.I tried to get away, but I couldn’t move.

She reached for my hand and squeezed it. It was so hot. I had to get away from the fire. “Never tell anyone, Breanna. It’s too dangerous. Never use that ability.”

Suddenly, Drake was there, dragging me from her and out of the house. My mom. My Talde. They were all dead. He killed them.

I didn’t want to go. I never had the chance to save them.

I kicked and struggled, but my body refused to obey my commands as it lay limp in his grasp. Why wasn’t I moving? I tried screaming, but no words emerged.

His voice cut through the images and I was in complete darkness except for the echoing sound of his deep voice. “Shall we watch your mother burn?”

I jerked awake so abruptly, my head hit the wall. I was on the floor in the corner of the room, trembling and cold, yet sweat dripped down my brow. I hadn’t had this nightmare in a while, most of the time I dreamt of the six years I spent living with Drake.

But this . . . I took a long, deep inhale . . . this was the worst one, the day I was taken. I hated this nightmare; my mom’s voice . . . the burning. Ten years ago and it was like it was yesterday.

I crawled to my feet, using the wall to help gain my balance then went into the bathroom. I peeled off my damp pajamas, grabbed the plastic clip from the basket beside the sink and twirled my mouse-brown hair up in a knot and fastened it. Reaching into the shower, I turned on the taps, noticing my trembling hand. It had been four years since I was rescued and still the nightmares lived in me.

It was Xamien and his Talde who found me in Drake’s basement with a chain on my ankle to keep me from escaping. Although, to this day, Xamien had no idea it was Drake’s home. Drake had been away and his vampire followers had been ‘looking after’ me.

Drake made it a habit to travel places he’d never been so that the next time, he was able to Trace, teleport, there. He told me that one day there wouldn’t be a place in this world he hadn’t been before. And his reasoning was so there was never a place in the world I could escape that he wouldn’t find me. I’d become his private Healer and he was never letting me go.

But I’d been free for four years now, living in Xamien’s pazo—his manor—in Spain. It was unlikely Drake had ever been here considering Xamien was a Taldeburu.

Unfortunately, with my freedom came the nightmares as I began to thaw and crawl out of the darkness.

I fought it.

I wanted to remain numb and alone.

Without questions. Without answers.

I could hide who I was from everyone and bury the past beneath the rubble. I even told Xamien my name was Max. I wasn’t Breanna anymore and I never would be.

Within this protective shell of numbness, I was strong and I’d fought hard to be this way, closed to the fear that woke me in the night. That was the only time it found me. The only time I had no control. I became a windmill in a storm, spinning out of control, my fear gusting through me unable to be stopped. But the detachment was fading. The light that had been snatched from me when I was only ten years old was struggling to find a way to repair.

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